


Crowley Fell In Love... In the 1960s

by boredom



Series: Crowley Fell In Love... [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has Realizations, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredom/pseuds/boredom
Summary: After Aziraphale gives him the Thermos, Crowley is left to figure out what it all means. He comes to some (not so surprising) realizations.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Crowley Fell In Love... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649749
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	Crowley Fell In Love... In the 1960s

When Aziraphale had handed him the thermos full of holy water, Crowley had been so taken aback he didn't fully comprehend what it meant. Aziraphale had gotten angry at him the last time he asked. He had avoided him for years. Crowley never really understood why he had so vehemently denied Crowley's request. He wanted protection. He wanted to ensure Hell didn't torture him for all eternity. He wanted to make sure Aziraphale stayed safe. 

For some reason, Aziraphale didn't see that. He didn't understand it. The argument had left them both shattered and broken in ways he did not expect. Aziraphale was his friend, there was no denying it. But what Crowley had failed to realize was that he was something more. 

Back at his flat, he stared at the thermos. It was tartan, like everything else Aziraphale owned. If Crowley wasn't mistaken, it was actually HIS tartan, the one he specifically designed for himself. Crowley would recognize the pattern anywhere. 

"You go too fast for me." What was that supposed to mean? He had ridden in the Bentley before and hadn't had a problem. Well... technically he did complain an awful lot about Crowley driving too recklessly, but that hadn't stopped him from getting in the Bentley before. 

What did it mean?

What did this tartan thermos full of holy water mean?

Why did Aziraphale look so torn in the car earlier? 

Why was he so desperate to not give Crowley the one thing he asked for?

Why was Crowley so desperate to get Aziraphale on his side when Aziraphale was the one who still acted like Heaven's dog?

"You go too fast for me." 

Crowley stood up and started pacing, a hand running through his hair and low growls emitting from his mouth. Aziraphale was a riddle wrapped in a puzzle, that was for sure. Why now? Sure, Crowley was planning the heist, but why did Aziraphale want to get involved now? Why did he give him the holy water? Why didn't he just thwart him like he was technically supposed to do? 

Why did Crowley care?

He stopped and stared out the window at the bustling streets below. That really was the root of it all. Why did he care? He could just accept this as a peace offering and continue on with his life. And yet, he kept asking, kept looking for meaning. Just like he always had. Except, now, things were different. Now he was looking for meaning in Aziraphale. 

"You go too fast for me." 

It wasn't about the car or his driving. It was something else. The thermos was tartan, but not just any tartan, Aziraphale's tartan. He had taken the time to either get it made or miracle it that way. And Heaven hated frivolous miracles to the point where Aziraphale would not use any if it benefited his corporation. Aziraphale had caved and given him the holy water despite knowing it could destroy Crowley if used improperly. Aziraphale had come to him and had devised a solution that, at least in his mind, would minimize risk to Crowley's demonic being. Aziraphale had asked to go on a picnic someday in the future. Aziraphale had told him he went too fast. 

Crowley sighed and closed his eyes, his mind working to untangle the knots and try to come up with a coherent and satisfying story. But it refused to focus on Aziraphale. Instead, it kept coming back to him. His feelings. His thoughts. His actions. His questions. It turned these ideas over and over again no matter how hard he tried to focus on what game Aziraphale was playing. 

Aziraphale wasn't playing a game. He knew that.

"I love him." The answer seemed to come too easily, too simply. Shouldn't he be throwing himself on the nearest chaise lounge and sighing dramatically, waxing poetic about his emotions. There were no dramatics. There was no poetry. It was only a simple thought that seemed to hold the answer to every one of his questions. 

"I love him." 

How long had Crowley loved him? Had it been since the Wall? Since the Arc? Since the thousands of little run-ins over the centuries that gave him insight into Aziraphale's quirks. He always put three sugars in his tea and tapped the stirring spoon four times on the edge of the teacup before setting it down to the left of the saucer. He would always savor the first and last bites of any meal the most, taking the longest to eat them. Whenever he finished a book, no matter how many times he had read it, he would always close the cover quietly and spend a few minutes staring at it with a soft expression on his face. He was stubborn and nice and a bastard and a saint and someone who cared too much but also too little. He questioned privately and obeyed openly. 

He was Aziraphale. He was everything Crowley was not and everything that he was. He brought out the good in him and also the bad. He is what made this job on Earth bearable. Through the suffering and cruelty of humans, Aziraphale was always there to comfort him, to give him a place to stay if he drank himself into a stupor once more because he could not handle it.  
Crowley collapsed onto the chair, staring once more at the thermos. Aziraphale must have agonized over the decision to give it to him for days, maybe even weeks. What finally tipped him to one side? 

"You go too fast for me." 

He closed his eyes and sighed. He loved Aziraphale. He loved him in ways a demon was not supposed to love. Maybe Aziraphale thought he knew. Maybe this was his way of saying that while he returned the feelings, he couldn't act on them. Not yet. 

"Maybe one day we can go on a picnic. Or dine at the Ritz." 

Crowley let his fingers trace over the pattern on the thermos. 

"I'll wait for you, angel. My angel. My love. I promise." 

He closed his eyes and behind his draft of the Mona Lisa, a safe appeared. He would only ever use the holy water as a last resort. It was his promise to Aziraphale. His angel. His love.

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale thinks Crowley is less oblivious/more in tune with his emotions than he actually is. He really should know better. Seriously, Az, make sure you guys are both on the same page BEFORE you turn him down. Poor Crowley is very confused.


End file.
